Hellfire
by The Lady Massacre
Summary: Reposted/Edited. Note at the end. LV/HG. She was his, and that was all there is to it.


_Hellfire _

_Dedicated to a fan of Tomione and Thierry Henry. :)_

_The Lady Massacre_

**Note: I suggest listening to Hellfire from Hunchback of Notre Dame while reading this. Oh, and there is a note at the bottom if you don't mind reading. It's also in my profile under updates.**

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Her head was high, proud. The mighty Lioness, trapped in the Serpent's lair, was not afraid. She knew what lay before her, and the thoughts of torture, of death that surely beckoned her closer, did not frighten her. She did not shy away. She would not submit. Not to him.

Two Death Eaters led her forward, she knew one to be Lucius Malfoy, and the other Dolohov. They held her tightly by the arms, bruising her pale skin. She did not flinch from the pain.

She wore nothing but a simple, slim black dress. It was not long, only reaching to her thigh, and her feet were bare. Her brown ringlets cascaded down her face, framing it perfectly, all the while reaching toward the curve of her back, revealing only a little of the tattoo on her back that marked her as his. As Voldemort's possession.

Although she was dirty, she walked proudly, with elegance and beauty. She did not walk as if she was a prisoner, oh no, she walked as if she was a princess being escorted before the court, she walked as if a high priestess would, being led to her death, knowing she was the sacrificial lamb to appease the gods. She walked with pride, beauty, and elegance.

They led her to the Council Chambers in his castle. It had once been known as Hogwarts, but now the heart of it had been tainted with with Dark Magic, and she no longer felt safe here as she once had in her younger years. Hogwarts was no longer her home. Upon opening the door, candles lighted as they entered. Thousands of candles, unscented, but glowing with a false warmth, a false sense of security, filled the room and made the cold place almost look beautiful. Almost.

She gazed around the room with a critical eye, meeting every Death Eater's gaze evenly. Although they did not think it true, they were equal, and she had the advantage- for she was not afraid. Finally her eyes met glowing red ones, and she could not help but be immersed in their beauty. They shined with power and knowledge, power that she wanted, and the knowledge she craved, but deprived herself of for fear of the consequences. She was good, she stood for all that was right. She would never bow to Voldemort, or his master, the Dark Arts.

"Hermione Granger," a smooth voice spoke softly. His voice was like smooth silk grazing against velvet, sending shivers of thrill and pleasure down her spine, and she was disgusted by those feelings. She glared at him evenly. Even if she was Crucio'd, it would not do him much good. She would never scream, not for him.

"Lord Voldemort," she acknowledged in return, with a small dip of her head. That was all the acknowledgment of his power that he was going to get.

He was smirking, she could feel it. Just knowing that made her skin crawl. She scowled.

"It has come to my attention that you have given your newest masters," he said, gesturing to Lucius and Narcissa, "a bit of trouble."

"That mudblood bitch killed my son!" Narcissa exclaimed angrily, snapping at Hermione. Hermione did not even acknowledge her, except for the small smirk that graced her lips. It had been a satisfying kill, after all.

"Did I allow you to speak, Narcissa?" Voldemort questioned softly.

Fear struck Narcissa's cold heart, and she shook her head, pleading with her master. "N-no, Milord. You haven't." she told him softly, bowing lowly.

"Then why did you? Crucio!"

Narcissa screamed loudly, squirming on the floor, writhing in unimaginable pain. No one acknowledged her, and, ignoring her pitiful cries for mercy, Voldemort continued to speak. "Care to explain?" he asked.

Hermione smiled wickedly. "I serve no one. Any one claiming to be my master will of course face the consequences, as you already know, I am not an obedient servant." She smiled. No, she was indeed not an obedient servant. Like Narcissa said, she had killed Draco. Oh, the advantages of being a Muggleborn.

Voldemort chuckled, something she did not expect him to do. She expected him to kill her on the spot, after all, she was here for punishment, and Draco had been a Death Eater. "Indeed, Miss Granger. Tell me, how in the world did you manage to kill the young Mister Malfoy?" He asked.

"It was simple," she said, a small smile on her face, "all I had to do was snap his neck, and he was finished." She grinned evilly.

Amusement danced across Voldemort's glittering eyes as he tapped his chin in thought. He smirked slightly. In truth, he had no wish to punish the girl. Draco had been nothing but a nuisance. However, his followers would not have it. He would lose control, and that would indeed be troublesome. He won the war, they new of his wrath, but some were stupid enough to believe that, with help, they could defeat him. He snorted at the thought, which did not go unnoticed by the mudblood. Her brow quirked, but he ignored her. Instead he stood, and clapped his hands together.

"You shall be my personal servant, Miss Granger, and I find myself in the mood for some entertainment. Dance."

Hermione was taken aback. She expected death, or his infamous Crucio. But never this. Servitude, to him? Though her surprise was immediate, it did not last long. Voldemort watched the brief emotion flutter over her face, before her smooth confidence returned. Dolohov and Lucius released her and stood in their respected places in Voldemort's inner circle. Voldemort watched her expectantly. She knew that she was in a dilemma, and Voldemort knew it as well. He was using it to his advantage.

Hermione raised a brow, hands on her hips as music started to play. She smirked, not even bothering to look where the music played, but kept her eyes solely on Voldemort. Once, long ago, to a time she could barely remember, she had two friends. Boys, whom she loved dearly, and they loved her. They were her best friends. She confided in them, advised them, shared some of the silliest times with. And once, a party as going on. Music played, and Hermione had the urge to dance, and so she did. She was graceful where some would stumble, but she hadn't always been that way. Mostly it was because of dance lessons during the summer, they helped her greatly, but she had been shy, then. And still, Ronald, as one was called, had said she could seduce the coldest of men with her dancing.

Now, as a confident woman, no longer shy, she could attempt, and succeed. And perhaps, even kill.

The music had a sort of haunting tune, chilling your soul as the violins played beautifully. Cellos and all sorts, as the beat thrummed Hermione moved gracefully about the floor. She weaved herself in and out of the circle, dancing, placing her feet as a well practiced woman would. She danced, and they watched. Voldemort was surprised that she, a Muggleborn, could dance as well as any pureblood woman could. She was filth- yet she danced with the grace and beauty of a swan. But yet, her movements were swift, fluid, as if her arms and legs were fire, dancing quickly and feircly. Her temper, buried beneath her bosom, held a tremendous flame that equaled her movements.

Hermione's eyes never left Voldemort's gaze, her smoldering, burning eyes. A quirk of her lips, and Voldemort felt desire for her as he watched the movements. He found that neither could he look away, nor did he wish too. Who would? This woman, this enchantress, could seduce any man she wished. His desire for her grew, and slowly, the disgust for himself quickly followed. He turned away from her, and she stopped dancing, as did the music.

"Lucius! Take her to my chambers. Do not touch her, I will not be pleased should you disobey me. The rest of you are dismissed." Voldemort demanded quickly.

The Death Eaters were quick to disperse, and Lucius beckoned her to follow him. She did so, but slowly, for her eyes could not leave Voldemort's back. His reaction was most curious, and she, personally, wanted to know what made him act in such a way. She smirked. It was her dancing, she knew. It had to be. Nothing else she could have done could make him react in such a way.

Hermione quickly caught up to Lucius, the walk toward her new master's chambers a short one. She would not call him a master for long, either she herself would die, or it would be he who died. Either way would be much better than continuing to live for the pureblooded bastards.

She entered his room and Nagini, in her snake like glory, slithered close upon her entrance. Hermione, having been paralyzed by Voldemort's pet basilisk, was not very fond of snakes, but tolerated them. She eyed Voldemort's pet warily, dipping her head in acknowledgment as Nagini licked the air about her. In that way, snakes could taste fear, however Nagini found none from her.

"Mistress Nagini," she whispered to the snake, "I trust I find you well?"

Of course, Nagini responded in a hiss, which caused Hermione to smile softly. "You must forgive me, I don't speak Parseltongue, but considering you are favored by his lordship, no doubt you are being treated like royalty."

Her smile turned to a smirk, and when she reached out, Nagini allowed her to pet her. The feeling of scales against her skin felt odd, but it was only a small pet, nothing more to bother her.

"She is fond of you, it seems." Voldemort's voice filled the room, and Hermione immediately turned so that she may face him. His hood was down, and it scared her to see, not his usual snake like features, but that of a man, a man's whose face appeared to be carved by the gods themselves. His hair was a chocolate brown, with grey bangs hovering over his glowing eyes. This, this scared her. A lot. He smirked at her fear, her obvious fear. "Forgive me," he told her. "I removed the glamor charm so that I may be comfortable. It is needed, so that my followers will obey me."

Hermione frowned, shoving her fear aside for that moment. He frowned as well. Where had all that fear gone? "They fear you because of your actions, the crimes you have and will commit to reach your goals. If you think your looks have anything to do with fear, you are surely deluded."

"People fear," he said, stepping closer to her as his cloak billowed behind him, "what they do not understand. Those idiots do not understand why I have that appearance, and so therefore they fear me, if only so that I do not make them look the same."

Hermione snorted. "Fools."

Voldemort smirked as he said, "I could not agree more."

-

"Tell me, Granger," He said to her one day. Hermione has been his personal servant, which acts included and are not limited too, sleeping with him, obeying his every command, cleaning for him, and cooking for him, for three months exactly. She would dance for him, as he often demanded, but in trade for her servitude he offered her knowledge. Boundless knowledge, and she craved more and more by days end. Her thirst for knowledge was unquenchable, now that she had the opportunity to learn.

He, Voldemort, was a patient teacher, but he did not accept failure. To be honest, it was expected of him. Still, she learned much under her three months of tutelage, and she wondered when his amusement for her will end. Surely he wished to kill her?

Although it seemed to most that she had given up, that she had succumbed to darkness, she truly hadn't. She found it severely tempting, unbelievably so, but she resisted it for the friends she once had, and the Light she still stood for. She was the last Order member, but she would not go down without a fight. He did not expect her to. She provided him challenge and amusement when this world he created did not. It was boring without a fight, and she always provided him one.

"What?" She never called him Master or Milord when they were in the privacy of each others company. At first, it angered him. He would punish her severely, but still she did not give in, and he admired that in her. He was used to it now. He didn't expect her to call him such, and he would not punish her, so long that she did not disrespect him in front of his followers. She complied, as she was not usually summoned before them anyway, other than to dance.

"Why is it that you do not fear me?" he asked. He was reading in his favorite leather armchair, and she sat, reading her own book, at his feet. Never were they on equal levels, because magically and physically, they weren't. Not yet. He was training her, and she was progressing beautifully. S

he looked up at him with her burning brown eyes, and said, with equal coolness, "It is because once you lose everything, you have nothing to fear."

He raised a brow. "And what of death?"

She laughed, her voice light. "Death is nothing to fear, but something to welcome with open arms. Have you not heard of the Deathly Hallows? Of the three Peverell brothers?"

Voldemort scoffed. "In passing, and all I have gathered is that they are silly child stories, nothing of significance. The Elder Wand did not work for me, which is why I was forced to use another." Hermione sighed, shaking her head.

"You are a fool then, Voldemort." Anger flashed through his red eyes, and Hermione held her hands up in defense. "The reason the Elder Wand did not work for you is because it belonged to Harry at the time, it works perfectly for you now, as you well know. But that is a story for another time." Hermione stood up and readjusted her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. She stood before him, and said with the smallest of smiles,

"Now, the Three Peverell brothers. It's a tale believed to be made up by Beedle the Bard, regarding morals such as honesty, goodness, and the like. What most don't know is that they were real, as were the Deathly Hallows." As she said this, she began to pace, and Voldemort watched her carefully.

"The story of the three brothers begins with the trio coming across an impassable river. They create a bridge so they could cross, but were met halfway by Death. Now, Death was angry for losing three potential victims, but pretended to be impressed with the brothers, and would grant each a wish as a reward. The eldest brother wished for an unbeatable dueling wand, known as the Elder Wand. The middle brother wished for a way he could resurrect the dead. As for the youngest, he wished for something so that he could hide from Death, and so Death gave him his Cloak of Invisibility.

"For the most part, they worked. However, the eldest brother died in his sleep because he bragged about the wand and its power. The middle brother killed himself because he could not truly be with his loved one, whom he had resurrected, but because she did not belong there, she suffered. Later, the stone was embedded into a golden band, and was made the Gaunt ring." Hermione paused and looked to Voldemort, who seemed surprised, if only a little. He played with said ring on his finger, causing Hermione to smirk, and continue.

"As for the youngest, he lived a long and happy life, because the cloak worked. But eventually, he welcomed Death as a friend. Harry had inherrited the cloak." Hermione finished finally, and Voldemort could not resist to ask,

"And the moral of that story would be?" She smiled.

"That Death will come to you, no matter how long you run or where you try to hide."

-

Weeks passed and Voldemort neither taught nor spoke to her, when not giving demands. Needless to say, he hadn't been very pleased with the tale's moral, but Hermione, personally, could not care less. Although, she did miss their spats. He made her do humiliating tasks, mostly in front of his inner circle, but Hermione always performed them with a sort of pride and dignity that could not be disputed. It frustrated Voldemort to no end, but he continued trying.

One day, while she was alone, which was a rare occurrence indeed, she began to dance. She was fond of dancing, moving freely, as if she was indeed free. She wanted freedom more than anything else, even though she did enjoy the lessons Voldemort gave her. She enjoyed being near Voldemort. Oh Merlin, she really did. She enjoyed conversing with him, after all it had been a long time since she talked to someone with intelligence to rival her own, and she absolutely loved arguing with him. And over time, she did not even mind serving him.

She felt guilty. It tugged at her heart so much, she wanted to cry. But she has never cried. No, never. Not since Harry and Ron died, not since the war ended, and the Order lost. She had stayed strong. She was still strong. But Voldemort, he was tempting her, him and the Dark Arts. Hermione leaned against the wall, shaking her head desperately.

No. No no no. She could not, would not give in. She could not enjoy the lessons, she was betraying Harry, and Ron. She was betraying everyone. She had to distance herself even further, less she fall in love.

More weeks passed, and Hermione no longer attempted to converse with Voldemort. She simply listened and obeyed. Voldemort noticed the change in her, and he did not like it. He tried to tease her, but it gauged no reaction. He tried to argue with her, but she remained calm. Even when he complimented her, only the briefest of moments would she be surprised, but then she would return to her emotionless mask, and it angered him greatly.

This continued for three more days before his patience finally wore thin, and he confronted her with it.

"What is it with you woman? What could have possibly caused you to act this way?! I have been nothing but the best of masters to you, I have made you my apprentice, I have taught you things not even my followers know! I have been merciful, now tell me what is bothering you before I give you something to be sorry about!" He roared at her.

Hermione closed her eyes, and sighed. "Nothing at all, Master."

Hermione moved away from him to continue on with her duties. All Voldemort could do was stand there and watch in amazement. She was admitting defeat.

-

Voldemort raged in his throne room, destroying everything, even his precious throne. That infuriating woman! How dare she.... she give up like that! He should be happy. The battle was won, the girl finally defeated. But he was not. He was angered. His challenge was lost, gone. She was broken, unwilling to fight. What could have possibly happened for her to behave this way? During her entire enslavement, no matter who was her master, she would best them some way or another, even without her wand. She had only killed Draco, but she had humiliated most of his followers already.

She was an interesting woman, to say the least. He had expected her to fight more now that she was under his control, but it was under a year, and she was already broken, and the thought did not please him. That damned woman.

He had grown attached to her during their time together, though he loathed to admit it. She had interesting opinions, not to mention she was the most brilliant witch he has ever had the fortune to meet. Not to mention her body, it was bewitching, the way she moved. He yearned to possess her fully, mind body and soul. In truth, she alrady belonged to him. But the victory would be oh so much sweeter if she did so obligingly, without his orders.

Voldemort shook his head. No. She was filth. He should not be thinking this way. Voldemort growled, throwing a glass vase at the wall, watching the glass shatter. This did not soothe him, however. It just angered him more. He clenched his fist, his jaw tightened. She was a Muggleborn, for Merlin's sake! Filth! The very thing his ancestor Salazar Slytherin wanted to rid he world of! The very peope he aimed to destroy!

He shook his head again. No, no she was not filth, despite her blood. He could not cndemn her, for he himself was only a halfblood. Besides, she has proved to be of more value than the deceased Bella had been, and far more important. She was cunning, intelligent, subtle. She was also brave, wise, and cared for others. She was a rare find, he knew this.

Now all he had to do was figure out what to do about it. He knew he could not lose her, it would be idiotic. Because not only was she a powerful witch, but one for the defeated Light side. She could turn on him and he would never know.

Voldemort stopped, arriving at a decision. He would give her a choice. She could either choose him, and rule the world by his side, or she would die. He hated to waste talent, but she was a weakness he could not afford to have if she did not choose him.

-

Hermione went about her usual chores for the day. So far, she has not seen any trace of his lordship, and she was glad because of this. Unfortunately for her, it was taking some time for her affections for the Dark Lord to wane. She did not understand how she could fall for the man in the first place, yet at the same time she could.

She frowned deeply. He was intelligent, and had passion for his work, for his goals. He was... simply Voldemort. To be honest, there was no other way to describe him. Soon she was confronted by Voldemort, but he did not say anthing. Instead, he watched her as she went about her work. She had only paused when he appeared, but quickly went back to her work when she realized that he would not speak to her.

It took a while for him to speak, but when he did, she dropped everything.

"Are you tired of serving me this way, Hermione?" he asked her softly. He stood behind her, his fingers dancing along her hips. His breath tickled her ears, and she held her breath.

Her heart steadily pounding faster, Hermione turned around to face him. "You aready know I am forced to serve you, what more could you possibly want?" she asked him softly.

Voldemort smirked."I want you by my side. To serve me, dance for only me, and reign by my side as my Queen. You will be free, Hermione. I will grant you anything you wish... be my Queen." His lat words came out as a soft whisper, and Hermione looked up into his glimmering eyes in confusion.

"You offer a cage madeof gold and rare jewels in trade of an iron cell, Voldemort," she told him in response. "It will not be any different from the life I already have." Voldemort shook his head, his lips inches from her own.

"No, because not only will you be my lover, but my wife. No longer will anyone disrespect you, less they face death."

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes, for once in many many long years, sparkling with tears. "I can't betray them," she whispered hoarsly. "I can't love you."

Voldemot smirked in triumph. "But my dear, you do." With that he leaned down, and captured her lips with his own. It was passionate on his part, full of raw lust, and love pouring from hers. She responded almost desperately. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed the man she loved, and no words were spoken as they lied down on the floor, hardly taking breath. She was giving up, giving in, because she was his, and that's all there is to it.

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**Quite a few wanted me to continue this. And although I adore the idea- I wouldn't know how to continue. And then I had a thought, what if I made this into a comic, of sorts?**

**Some of you may know WCMI, otherwise known as When Curiosity Met Insanity. It is an Alice in Wonderland comic made by bri-chan, and the pairing is Alice/Hatter (Or Reginald Theophilius the Third ;]). I was thinking of doing that, but here are the problems:**

**For one thing, I cannot draw men. So if any one who is interested in joining this and drawing all the guy characters I would love to hear from you. My email is in my profile. Please include a sample of your work (preferably a character from the HP world, Voldemort especially. He looked funny when I drew him) so that I may get a general idea of your style (I swear I'm not going to steal it. If you are that worried about it, send me a sketch or something.) so I can choose properly.**

**Also, I might need to know what art program you use. I don't think it will be that important, but just in case.**

**Another thing, I will not have a pen for my tablet until Christmas, not to mention I'm insanely busy with school (UGH.) SO deadlines are not really a problem with me. If that bothers you any, you might not want to apply.**

**How this will work: At the moment, I think the best way we could do this was by corresponding by email, preferably gmail, so that it will be easier to upload the pictures and download them so we can edit them. Even if you don't have gmail, it's fine, I would still love to hear from you. If you guys want to help write the plot as well I have no issue with that, I would love to have some insight and different opinions.**

**As to where to post the comic once it is finished? I think Deviant Art would be the best idea. Once I pick who I want to work with (I think I may have a poll as well, but it depends...) I'll create DeviantArt account for the both of us to use. Oh, and if someone else wants to do the background or anything, make this a real collaboration, I'm fine with that too. I'll try to have a drawing of mine up soon so that you guys know my style as well.**

**It may take awhile. Or, you can visit my DeviantArt page, the link is in my profile. Thanks to all of you guys who have read, reviewed, alerted, and faved this story. And thanks to anyone who considers the offer :) I think it would be a great idea.**


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